


Drugged

by sahiya



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jack and Rose have hangovers from hell, the Doctor lies through his teeth, and everyone ends up in bed together. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drugged

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I am going to write an OT3 fic with some element of plot one of these days. This story is for Fuzzyboo, who has been patiently awaiting her birthday fic for six months now - and this is not the story I originally promised her. *sheepish* At least I'm only one day late for your half-birthday, m'dear! Thank you for being a wonderful friend and a great beta. Thanks to Firefly_124 for beta-reading this.

The ground was not behaving the way it should. Jack had the vague idea that ground ought to be solid and stable, not bucking and shifting.

 

"_Captain_."

 

The voice was a whip. It made Jack quicken his step and push his exhausted, spent body forward, despite the ground rolling beneath his feet, the answering roil in his stomach, and the spinning in his head. But it couldn't stop him from stumbling over a patch of uneven ground.

 

A strong hand closed over his wrist. Jack jerked his head up and almost blacked out. When his vision cleared, he saw the Doctor looking down at him. Somehow, he was keeping Rose cradled against his body with one arm, while the other one kept Jack on his feet. "'C'mon, lad," he said, his grip gentling. "Just a little further now."

 

_A little further where?_ Jack wanted to ask. But that would've taken strength he didn't have, and he trusted the Doctor. He nodded. The Doctor let go of Jack's hand to hold Rose with both arms. Jack, woozy past the point of shame, grabbed hold of the hem of the Doctor's leather jacket to steady himself.

 

He was so focused on simply putting one foot in front of the other that he didn't notice they'd arrived back at the TARDIS until he looked up and there it was - big and blue and such a welcome sight that Jack nearly wept in relief. High as a kite, Jack was, in the worst possible way. Goddamn xenophobic aliens and goddamn drugs and goddamn hypodermic needles. But that didn't matter. They were home now. He could collapse in safety as soon as they were inside.

 

Not quite, it turned out. The Doctor steered Jack firmly past the jump seat and into the corridor beyond. "Please," Jack moaned, all filters stripped away by the drugs.

 

"Just in here, lad," the Doctor said, taking the first door on the left. Jack expected the medlab or his bedroom, but it was neither - it was Rose's bedroom, all dark wood and soft, muted pinks and greens. The Doctor laid Rose on the bed. She groaned and curled up on her side.

 

Jack stood, swaying and unsure. He was dizzy to the point of disorientation, but something kept him from collapsing beside Rose. _Not allowed_, it informed him firmly. He felt on the verge of tears. Why was the Doctor doing this to him? he wondered bleakly. Why -

 

"- are you standing there?" the Doctor demanded. Jack felt himself maneuvered over to the bed and pushed down to sit on it. The Doctor knelt and untied his shoes, removed his jacket and braces, and prodded him to lie next to Rose. He hovered over Jack, holding his eyes open gently and making him track the blue light on the screwdriver. Jack's eyes wouldn't focus the way he wanted them to. It made him feel even sicker, and he closed his eyes and turned his face away. A cool, dry hand smoothed the hair back from his forehead. "Hang in there just another minute or two. I'll be right back."

 

The hand vanished. Jack opened his eyes, watched the ceiling spin, and closed them. It didn't help. He felt like he had at fifteen, when he and his cousin had lifted a bottle of moonshine from their grandfather's basement and got completely trashed. A year later he'd gone into training for the Time Agency, and his metabolism had been altered. He and his friends had bitched endlessly about how difficult and expensive it made it to get really drunk, but now he was wondering why anyone would ever want to. This was _miserable_.

 

Beside him, Rose stirred with a moan. "Doctor?"

 

Jack put out a hand, realized it was on her ass, and slid it up to her waist. "Sorry. Jus' me."

 

Another moan. She levered herself up. It took Jack several seconds to realize what was happening, but then he rolled over, swallowing against his own nausea to help her sit up and retch into the bin by the bed. He held her hair back with one hand and braced himself against the bed with the other, breathing through his mouth and praying the Doctor got back soon.

 

It might've been minutes or seconds later when the Doctor's cool hand slid over his own, taking his place holding Rose's hair. "I got her," he said. Jack fell gratefully back to sprawl across the other half of the bed and listened, dimly, as the Doctor fussed over Rose. The retching stopped, thank Christ, and he felt the Doctor tuck Rose into the bed. Then there were some cajoling murmurs and things went quiet for awhile. When Jack was finally able to turn his head and open his eyes, he saw the Doctor holding Rose up, forcing her to drink from an old, chipped mug.

 

For once, his expression was unguarded, open. He looked down at Rose with undisguised worry and a sort of luminous affection - _love_, Jack thought. It only confirmed what he'd known already. The Doctor was hopelessly in love with Rose, but would only let himself show it in moments like these, when he thought himself unobserved, especially by her.

 

He wanted to keep watching, but holding his eyes open made the nausea worse. He closed them and curled away, wondering if the TARDIS had been so kind as to provide a bin on his side of the bed as well.

 

The mattress dipped and there was a cool hand on Jack's forehead, smoothing back his hair. "Jack me lad," the Doctor said, "I need you to sit up and drink this."

 

"Can't." Sitting up sounded impossible, and there was no way he'd keep anything down, not even tea.

 

"Have to," the Doctor said. "It's special tea." He lifted Jack up as though he weighed nothing, one hand behind Jack's head and shoulders. But of course the Doctor wasn't human. This was, Jack realized, the only reason the three of them weren't completely fucked. If the Doctor'd been sick, too, they'd've never made it out of that place. Jack whimpered. The Doctor tightened his hold and murmured, "It's all right now. I just need you to drink your tea." Jack nodded.

 

The first swallow almost came back up instantly. Jack managed to get through it by sheer force of will. The second was easier. By the fifth he actually felt better, enough to wonder what the Doctor had meant by "special tea." By the time Jack reached the honey pooled at the bottom of the mug, he was holding it on his own. He was exhausted and headachey, but that he could handle, so long as his head was clear.

 

"I take it there was an antagonist in that," Jack said, handing the mug off.

 

"Yeah. You'll be a bit hung-over when you wake up, but the worst is over. Now, into bed with you."

 

Jack sighed, fully expecting to be shuttled off to his own room now that he could hold his head up and count backwards from ten. But the Doctor was pulling back the duvet and prodding Jack to crawl beneath it. Jack raised an eyebrow. The Doctor's face, when he chanced a look at it, was carefully bland. Jack curled up as close to Rose's warmth as he dared and sighed again, this time with contentment. "Good thing you weren't affected," he mumbled, burying his face in his pillow.

 

The Doctor's hand, rubbing lightly at Jack's shoulder, stilled briefly. "Superior metabolism, me," he said. Jack snorted. "Sleep, lad."

 

Jack slept, deeply and without dreams for once, and woke to an armful of groggy, grumbling Rose Tyler. He half-sat up in alarm, wondering how long they'd been tangled together and whether the Doctor would kill him or just leave him on the first deserted planet he found. But the Doctor was no where to be seen. Jack relaxed enough to realize his head was throbbing and his mouth was dry and tasted like something had crawled in and died. He slumped, letting his head drop onto the pillow.

 

Rose groaned and buried her face in Jack's shoulder. "God, my head. S'like that time Shireen and I got into her mum's cherry brandy. And I'm still in my clothes. Eurgh."

 

_Eurgh_ sounded like a fairly accurate summary. Jack burrowed deeper into the mattress. "Water and painkillers in the bathroom," he mumbled. "Bring back enough to share."

 

She poked him. "Why should I be the one to fetch and carry?"

 

"Because I held your hair while you threw up," Jack replied without opening his eyes. "Make sure the water isn't too cold."

 

Rose grumbled but sat up. Jack watched to make sure she was steady as she got to her feet. She stood holding onto the head of the bed, hand pressed over her eyes. "God, it's like we skipped the whole night out and went straight to throwing up in the sink and feeling like shit the day after. S'not fair." She let go of the bed and took a couple steps, steady enough that Jack relaxed. "Where's the Doctor anyway?"

 

"No clue," Jack said. And that was weird, considering how attentive he'd been. Jack had half-expected - half-hoped - to wake up with the Doctor wedged between him and Rose. Still, it wasn't like he'd ever just hung around, waiting for his companions to wake up. He was probably tinkering in the console room.

 

Jack closed his eyes and buried his face in Rose's pillow. It smelled of her hair and skin. Her linens were softer than his, feather-light but warm. It was the nicest bed he'd ever been in. If only he could spend more time in it . . .

 

"Jack!"

 

Jack jerked out of his light, comfortable doze. "Rose? What's wrong?" He shoved himself up, ignoring the way his head swam.

 

"Not me," Rose's voice said from the bathroom. "I mean, I'm fine - it's - Jack, it's - just come here, _please_!"

 

Jack got to his feet without falling over, though he had to steady himself a moment, same as Rose. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Rose sounded scared, and that could really only mean one thing - well, actually, it could mean a lot of things, but in this case Jack was fairly certain what it was.

 

And yet, Jack didn't think anything could prepare him for the Doctor, passed out cold on the bathroom floor. Jack stared, uncomprehending. He'd lost the leather jacket at some point, but still wore his jumper and jeans. Rose had his head cradled in her lap. "He's all cold and clammy," she reported, in a determinedly brave voice. "Colder than usual. I think. And he's breathing funny."

 

Jack dropped to his knees and started checking the Doctor for injuries, hoping he hadn't hit his head when he'd fallen on top of everything else. "You idiot," he muttered. "I _told_ him," he added, when Rose made a noise of protest, "last night, I said how lucky we were that he wasn't affected. I'd just bet the bastard knew all along he was in trouble and never said a word."

 

Rose's fingers stroked across the Doctor's close-cropped hair. "He probably figured we were too ill to help him. Didn't want us to worry."

 

"I'd have helped him," Jack said, shaking his head. "Somehow. If he'd just told me -"

 

"Well, he didn't. Jack, what do we do?" For the first time Rose's voice wavered.

 

Jack knelt back, satisfied the Doctor was uninjured. "He needs the antagonist, I'd guess, and probably lots of fluids and sleep." He hoped. The Doctor could control his body's reactions to a much greater extent than he or Rose, but Jack knew there were things that were poisonous to him. His reaction to Rose's innocent and never-repeated suggestion that he take an aspirin for a headache had been both educational and vehement.

 

Rose nodded. "Fluids and sleep. Guess that's what we need, too."

 

"Yeah. Speaking of . . ." Jack stood, got two glasses and filled them from the tap, and shook two painkillers onto his palm. "We're no good to him if we're barely functioning ourselves," he said, handing one to Rose. "Give it a minute to kick in and we'll move him to the bed." Rose nodded again, free hand continuing to move over the Doctor's hair. Jack took his painkiller and washed it down with the entire glass of water. It soothed his throat, but somehow left him more aware of how parched he was. Rose's lips were cracked, he noticed as she swallowed her pill. What the hell had those aliens given them, anyway?

 

Jack slumped down beside them. He indulged himself in rubbing his own temples for a few seconds, before picking up the Doctor's hand and feeling for his pulse. It was very fast, but the man did have two hearts. Jack had no idea what was normal. He let his head tip back against the wall and felt, like a spark in his mind, a whisper of reassurance. His eyes flew open.

 

"TARDIS likes you," came an almost inaudible murmur from the floor. Jack looked down and saw the barest glint of steel gray beneath the Doctor's lowered lashes. "I'm okay," he added, voice fading into nothing. "Jus' tired . . ."

 

"Bullshit," Jack said.

 

"We found you unconscious on the bathroom floor," Rose added. The Doctor gave a weak groan in reply. Jack decided the painkillers had had their chance.

 

"Help me get him up," he said, pulling the Doctor into a sitting position and taking one arm across his shoulders. The Doctor started to struggle; Jack tightened his grip on the Doctor's wrist to just this side of pain and said, "Stop it. You're going to let us get you into bed where you belong. Don't you even think about fighting us on it. It's going to be hard enough the way Rose and I are feeling."

 

For a moment, no one said a word. The Doctor let his head drop onto Jack's shoulder. "Sorry," he murmured.

 

Rose let out a breath and tucked herself under the Doctor's other arm. Jack pressed a quick kiss to the crown of the Doctor's head. "It's okay," he said gently. "We've got you."

 

Even with the Doctor helping, it was a monumental effort to get all three of them up off the floor and into the bedroom. What little strength the Doctor had waned quickly, leaving Jack to bear most of the weight. The Doctor's collapse onto the bed was graceless, and Rose quickly followed. She was entirely pale, except for the mascara-smudged shadows beneath her eyes. Jack didn't dare join them; someone had to keep moving, and he didn't trust his ability to get up again if he let himself go horizontal for even a minute.

 

Not that Jack wouldn't have adored getting horizontal with either or both of his traveling companions. Just not right then.

 

He grabbed onto the bedstead to keep himself upright. "Doctor," he heard himself say, as though from very far away, "what do you need?"

 

He managed to focus his eyes on the Doctor's pale face about the same time the Doctor managed an answer. "Antagonist. Fluids. Painkillers - not the ones in the bathroom. Go - medlab - TARDIS'll give you what we need."

 

"Got it. Stay with him, Rose." Jack staggered out. He'd hoped he'd feel better, once he was up and about, but the truth was that his headache and general weakness were only getting worse. "A bit hung-over," the Doctor had said. _Ha._

 

The medlab was considerably closer than Jack remembered. He fell through the door, caught himself on the counter, and blinked, bewildered, at the pile of medical supplies in front of him. Three packets of clear liquid, a bottle of pills with a plain white label that said "Painkillers - Time Lord," and a hypospray of faintly blue liquid. The antagonist, it had to be. Beside it all was a steaming mug of tea, the Doctor's favorite blend by the scent. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The Doctor had said the TARDIS would give Jack whatever they needed, but he'd still anticipated having to rummage.

 

The saline packs were from Jack's time, give or take a couple centuries. Jack unwrapped one, strapped it to his arm, and bit his lip in concentration as he tried to get the needle in the large vein in the crook of his arm. Conditions were not optimal; his hands were trembling, he felt light-headed from too much exertion, and he was so dehydrated the vein had decided to play hide-and-seek. He finally managed to get the needle in and leaned on the medlab counter, head bowed, imagining the fluid entering the vein, bringing sugars and electrolytes to make him feel less like death.

 

The shuffle back to Rose's room was easier, perhaps because he knew it was the last trip he'd have to make. He opened his mouth to announce his presence with something witty or at least cheesy - "Saline Delivery Boy, at your service, and I do mean that" - but he hesitated, not wanting to wake the Doctor. And what he glimpsed through the doorway made him glad he'd kept his mouth shut for once.

 

The Doctor and Rose were curled up together, her back to his front, his arm across her chest, legs entwined beneath covers, both of them sleeping or so close it made no difference. Jack came to a dead stop in the doorway, frozen by a wave of unexpected tenderness and, simultaneously, a flush of unfamiliar emotion.

 

Jack Harkness didn't do jealousy. But if he did, he imagined it'd feel a lot like this.

 

He didn't waste time wondering which one he felt jealous of. He wanted to hold them both and be held in return. Rose had slept in his arms last night, but that was instinct, nothing more - when you were cold, it was only natural to roll towards warmth. The Doctor had been attentive and concerned about Jack, but Jack could not imagine him ever looking at him the way he had at Rose.

 

Jack would have laughed at himself, had he not felt so wretched. It was a hell of a time to have this revelation. The best thing would be to get out as fast as possible. What choice did he have, after all? Curl up on the edge of the bed and watch them snuggle with each other? Not a chance in hell.

 

He did his best not to wake them. There was a painfully large lump in his throat and he didn't trust his voice not to break if he had to speak. Rose's eyes fluttered as the needle went in, focused briefly on Jack, and slid closed. Jack strapped the pack to her arm just tightly enough to keep it in place and moved on to the Doctor. He barely twitched at the sting of the hypospray or the pinch of the IV needle; Jack had to shake him gently to wake him up to swallow his painkiller. He kept his eyes closed even as he accepted the mug and pill.

 

"All done," he said, smoothing a hand over the Doctor's short-cropped hair. The Doctor sank back into the bed and turned his face into Rose's hair, burying his nose in the strands at the nape of her neck. A wave of sudden dizziness forced Jack to sit on the edge of the mattress, bracing himself with his hand. He swallowed against that stupid lump. Perhaps lying down and watching the two of them like this wouldn't be so bad. It would hurt, but so would going to bed alone. This way he could pretend, if only for a little while, that the three of them were together.

 

Jack shook his head. It was the stress of the day that was making him think like that, the hangover and the exhaustion and the strain all combining to weaken him. He dragged himself to his feet and started to shuffle out.

 

"Jack?" Rose's voice was groggy and confused. "Where're you going?"

 

Jack pasted on a brave smile and turned back. "My room," he said, and was pleased when his voice didn't waver. "I'm tired."

 

"Oh," Rose said, frowning. "You're not staying?"

 

Jack felt the smile start to crack. "Best not. The two of you look pretty cosy on your own."

 

Rose tilted her head and looked hard at him. Jack saw the moment when understanding dawned, her expression changing from puzzlement to deep sympathy in the span of a heartbeat. Jack flushed, wishing he'd been just a few seconds faster.

 

"Oh God, Jack," she said, pushing herself up on one elbow. "I'm so sorry. We didn't mean - and after you took such good care of us, too. Please." She held up one corner of the duvet in invitation.

 

He shook his head. "I don't want pity or - or payment." God. That would be worse by far than going to bed alone - to be invited in for a few hours because Rose felt obligated, only to be turned out for sure in the morning when the Doctor woke.

 

"Please, Jack, don't." Rose extracted herself from the Doctor's arms and slid out of bed. Jack had no where to turn when she planted herself in front of him and put her arms around his neck, holding him tight and leaning her head on his chest. "I'm sorry," she said, voice slightly muffled. She pulled back to look up at him, rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. The only way I could get him to rest was to lie down with him and we were both so tired and he was so ill - I didn't think how it would look when you came back."

 

Jack cleared his throat. "Looked fine to me. Beautiful, in fact. The two of you deserve each other."

 

She watched him carefully. "What about you, Jack? What do you deserve?"

 

Jack opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away. "I don't know," he managed hoarsely.

 

"I do," she said, squeezing his hand. "And I can't speak for the Doctor, but I won't leave you out in the cold."

 

Jack looked down at their joined hands, then up at the Doctor, asleep in the bed. "Do you know what you're offering?"

 

Rose shrugged. The smile she hit Jack with was slow, like a sunrise. "Think so. Been thinking about it often enough since you came on board, haven't I?"

 

That startled him into a laugh. "Rose Tyler," he said, shaking his head.

 

She poked him in the chest. "What, a twenty-first century girl like me can't have those thoughts? Didn't think you'd be so narrow-minded. But," she yawned, "I think I'd rather have 'em later. I don't know about you, but I still feel a bit like something the cat sicked up." She squeezed his hand one last time and pulled away to rummage around in her dresser until she came up with some pajamas for herself. Then she gave a short laugh. "Guess the TARDIS thinks you should stay, too," she told Jack, just before throwing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms at him.

 

Jack caught them reflexively. Rose started changing, apparently unconcerned by his presence. Jack looked down at the soft flannel in his hands. "What about the Doctor?" he asked. "Should we try and make him more comfortable?"

 

"Wonder of wonders, he let me get his shoes and his jeans off him," Rose said, drawing an oversized sleep shirt over her head before wriggling out of her jeans. "Threw a fit when I touched the jumper, but it was better than nothing, I thought."

 

Jack eyed the lump in the bed. He looked back at Rose. "Boxers or briefs?"

 

Rose smiled, the tip of her tongue peeking out. "Briefs. Black." She pointed at Jack. "C'mon, now. I'm shattered, and I know you must be, too."

 

Jack had to admit he was, in fact, completely shattered. He changed into the pajama bottoms without fuss, hesitated a moment, then slid in behind Rose. The Doctor stirred and Jack froze, holding his breath.

 

"Wha -?" he mumbled.

 

"S'all right," Rose told him, leaning over to kiss his temple. "Jack's just getting into bed with us."

 

Jack held his breath. The Doctor huffed. "Good," he said. Jack's eyes widened. "Gotta keep an eye on both of you. Monitor your . . . something."

 

Jack snorted. Rose giggled. The Doctor grumbled, but rolled over to press his face against Rose's collarbone. Jack slid all the way under the covers and carefully wrapped himself around Rose, burying his face against the nape of her neck the way the Doctor had earlier. His knees were tucked behind hers, his arm thrown across her so his hand rested on the Doctor's hip. The TARDIS dimmed the lights, and Rose sighed. Jack breathed in the smell of her skin and her sweat and her hair, felt the shape of the Doctor's hipbone under his hand. For the minute and a half it took him to fall asleep, he let himself believe that this was truly what he deserved.

 

_Fin._


End file.
